


Silver Eyelashes and Cries in the Night

by bearclaws



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearclaws/pseuds/bearclaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.” - Friedrich Nietzsche</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Eyelashes and Cries in the Night

** PLAY **

  


"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to put that out."

Sighing, Matt's eyes flicked towards the 'No Smoking' sign he had blatantly ignored. He pinched the end of his cigarette, thick gloves preventing a burn. "Sorry. Didn't see the sign."

The security guard walked away and Matt pushed himself up from the slot machine, dropping his stub in a bin. The fact that the casino was quiet proved how fucking late it was, but Matt didn't want to go back to the hotel alone – Mello was rather drunk and Matt felt obligated to see him returned to their room in one piece.

Mello was so absorbed in his game of blackjack that he didn't even notice Matt sliding into the seat next to him. Mello tapped his fingers on the table and the dealer dealt another card – the Seven of Spades, which, along with Mello's Five of Hearts and King of Spades, meant he had lost.

"Bust," the dealer declared. "Dealer wins."

Mello slammed his empty glass down on the table and turned to face his friend. "Matt," he slurred. "Matt, Matt, Matt. Matty." He leaned forward and poked Matt in the chest. "'M not very good at this game."

"I can see that. I think we should go before you blow _all_ our money."

Mello turned, raised a finger, opened his mouth, and puked all over Matt's shoes.

Oh, that was just fucking _perfect_.

*

"Are you okay?"

Matt leant against the doorway, watching Mello as he hugged the toilet bowl and moaned theatrically. _Such_ a drama queen.

"No! What did you let me drink last night?"

" _I_ don't know; I'm not your baby sitter. You were off getting pwned at blackjack most of the night. I was playing slots."

Mello snorted. "Slots?"

"Fuck you. They're addictive."

Mello looked like he was going to say something witty and scathing, but instead retched, jerking forwards. Nothing happened and he turned around, staring daggers at Matt, as if this was his entire fault.

Matt drew a pack of Marlboros from his pocket; he took out the last cigarette (he'd have to go out and buy more soon, he only had one other pack left) and dropped the box in the nearby bin. Getting his lighter, Matt remarked casually, "You know, I thought you could handle your drink better than that."

"Fuck off."

Matt lit his cigarette and, smirking, did just that.

*

It was eight AM. Mello was finally asleep. Matt stood on the balcony of their hotel suite, smoke spiralling above his head, drinking in the sight of Vegas spread out beneath him. Neon signs were still lit against the backdrop of a cloudy November morning; roads snaked beneath him, and Matt supposed it was a good thing he wasn't afraid of heights.

He stubbed out his finished cigarette and flicked it over the balcony. Walking back into the room, he got his Gameboy from the bedside table and stretched out on the bed.

A couple of hours throwing Pokeballs and thwarting Team Rocket later, Mello started to stir. "What're you playing?"

"Pokemon. Feel better?"

"A bit, yeah."

Matt heard sheets shifting and felt a weight on his bed as Mello sat down next to him. Matt was so intent on kicking the last gym leader's ass that he didn't even look up.

Mello's voice was mocking: "Pokemon? Seriously?"

"Seriously. Red. Felt a bit old school. I'm at Giovanni. Fucker has a level fifty Rhydon and my Blastoise is dead." Matt frowned and clicked away. He hated Earthquake; it always killed his Pokemon at the most inopportune times.

Mello got up. "You are the lamest person ever."

"Says the man who had a couple of shots and spent the rest of the night puking his guts out."

"At least I'm not twenty-one and still play Pokemon!"

"That's because you _can't_ play it. You don't have the skill." As if to prove his point, the Rhydon on the screen fainted and Matt smirked. Exeggutor, saving his ass once again! Matt button-mashed through the boring congratulatory dialogue, saved and turned his Gameboy off. He stood and went into the kitchen where Mello was waiting for the kettle to boil wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms.

"Pokemon requires no skill," he said as Matt opened the cupboard to get his own mug. "It's a game for children."

"Learn about EV training and then get back to me on that," Matt countered, spooning cheap generic instant coffee granules into his mug.

The kettle finished boiling and Mello made a derisive 'tch'-laughing sound before pouring boiling water over his coffee granules. He passed the kettle to Matt who did the same. Mello walked off while Matt was adding some milk and cream to his coffee; he didn't understand how his friend could drink it black, especially seeing as how Mello had such a sweet tooth.

He shrugged mentally, blew on his coffee, and went to taunt Mello about his inability to play Pokemon some more.

*

Mello was bored, Matt could tell. Mello was a fidgety person.

"The TV in this place sucks."

Matt glanced up from the streams of code on his laptop – on the TV was a re-run of South Park, an episode he had seen a million times. Mello didn't think South Park was funny at all but Matt thought it was hilarious. "Turn it over then," he replied, gaze shifting back down to his screen.

"The only other things on are quiz shows and talk shows," Mello whined. "And I hate those."

"Go do something else. Read or… go for a walk, or write strongly-worded letters to TV companies or something. I'm trying to work."

"What are you doing?" Mello shuffled closer to Matt and looked at his screen.

"Coding. Guy said he'd pay me if I helped him out with some problems."

"Riveting."

"Money's money." Matt tapped away on his keyboard, brows furrowed in concentration. "You know, all this nerd stuff pays pretty well."

Mello stood up and fetched his jacket from his bed. "I think I'll go for a walk."

"Get me a pack of smokes."

"Say please."

"Please."

" _Pretty_ please."

"Get fucked."

Matt heard Mello chuckling and pulling on his boots. "Manners aren't one of your strong points, Matt." The door opened. "See you in a bit."

"Mm-hm."

The door clicked shut and Matt continued tapping away at his keyboard, smiling.

*

Mello pointed the gun at him, and shook his head; it was dark, and Matt was standing on what felt like rubble. He reached out a hand and took a step forward, saying words he couldn't hear over the roar in his head; he fell to his knees and _bang_ – Matt jerked awake, panting in the darkness.

Untangling himself from the sweat-dampened sheets, he took a couple of deep breaths. Just a dream.

Matt closed his eyes and fell asleep, and in the morning didn't remember his nightmare at all.

  


***  


** REWIND **  


  


Mello was, ultimately, a whirlwind of leather and passion and anger; he never let up, like an angry dog hanging on to your trouser-leg. In moments like these though, moments where the two of them were perfectly in tune, when they were sitting in the eye of the storm that was Mihael Keehl… It was in those moments that Matt realised how much he truly cared for the blond bastard.

Even if Mello was kicking his ass.

Mello's hand hovered over his black knight for a few seconds before lifting his bishop and taking Matt's pawn. Matt smiled and took Mello's bishop with his knight, and then frowned as Mello took his white knight with his queen.

"You have to think ahead, Matt."

Matt didn't answer. He hated playing chess. The big pile of white pieces next to Mello's knee was evidence that chess wasn't one of his strong points.

He'd be having a better time if he could just blow something up.

Matt shook his head. "Can we just say you've won so I can go?"

"No, Matt. That's not how it works."

Matt looked at Mello sitting opposite him, cross-legged on his bed. Mello smirked. Matt's heart squiggled a little and he looked back down at the board, concentrating. He thought ahead. He made his move. Mello took his piece. "How did you do that?! God, I hate this game."

"Intelligence, Matt. It's all to do with your smarts."

Matt frowned at the board, picking up one of his castles. "…Like I said, how are you winning?"

*

Small touches in broom closets, creaking doors in the middle of the night, a body slipping into a bed… These were the things that punctuated Matt's time at Wammy's. They were the time scale he used – how long had it been since he had last kissed Mello, and when would he next? Never mind hours, minutes, seconds – he measured time on a much less reliable clock.

The door to his bedroom opened and Matt could make out Mello's skinny frame in the moonlight streaming through the window. Matt never drew his curtains; he liked being able to look up at the moon's face and the scattered stars at night. He remembered trying to count them when he was younger. The night sky was magical.

"Hi," whispered Matt.

Mello said nothing, slipping into his bed. He didn't need to ask. Matt shuffled up to make room but Mello's elbows ended up digging into his ribs anyway, because that was just the kind of person he was.

Matt remembered stargazing with Mello one crisp autumn evening. They had snuck out with a thermos of hot chocolate and a packet of Hob Nobs and just laid down on the grass and stared at the sky. He remembered the silence between them, the comfort they had together… But most of all he remembered Mello's hand in his as they walked back into Wammy's, the moon smiling down on them from above.

 _Magical_.

Matt counted Mello's silver eyelashes in the moonlight until he too fell asleep.

Roger finds them curled together when he checks everyone's rooms in the early morning half-light. He doesn't smile, doesn't frown, but leaves the two teenagers be.

*

Matt fell off the diving board and plunged into dark, icy water; he fell straight to the bottom and turned and twisted as reeds wrapped around his arms and legs, trapping him. He opened his mouth to scream but all he got was a mouthful of burning water that shot straight to his lungs and _hurt_. Disembodied faces swooped at him and he struggled in the tightening reeds, and the faces had big eyes and open mouths and he screamed, screamed, screamed… But no one heard him, and eventually the reeds went slack and he just floated, lighter than a feather, down in the water, eyes closed, and in the morning didn't remember his dream at all.

  


***  


** FAST FORWARD **  


  


"Hi Matt."

"Mello?!"

Mello pushed his way into Matt's flat like he had lived there for years. Never mind that they hadn't seen each other in what felt like a millennium. Never mind that Matt had been holed up alone in his flat, worrying every night about his best friend. Never mind all that; Mello didn't care.

Matt shut the door and turned to face the blond. He took a moment to soak in Mello's presence, a million questions racing through his head. He settled on the most glaring: "Where did you go?"

"That doesn't matter now. Matt… I'm in some deep shit."

Everything about Mello was harsher, from his words to his appearance. His eyes were narrower, tighter, his mouth set in a thin line. This wasn't the Mello he knew. This Mello was… troubled. "Jesus, Mello. What happened?"

"I can't explain. You know about the whole Kira thing, right?"

"…Are you Kira?" He'd be lying if Matt said he hadn't thought it.

Mello snorted. "No. I'm trying to catch him."

They were still in Matt's hallway. White-washed walls, a high table covered in overdue bills and junk mail, a door with a broken lock. This was Matt's life. This is what he had amounted to. A run-down apartment in a run-down city. Barely scraping by. All for fucking Mello, who had scarpered the moment they set foot in Japan.

"You, a vigilante?" English felt strange on Matt's tongue after speaking Japanese for so long.

"Yes. The why isn't important. But–"

"It's Near, isn't it?" Matt interrupted. "It's always Near."

"Don't start. Are you going to help me or not?"

Matt closed his eyes. Mello needed him but Matt didn't want to get involved in things he shouldn't. The urge to say no was powerful, but how could he? Matt had always said yes to Mello.

Matt opened his eyes, feeling like he was signing his own death warrant. "What do you need me to do?"

*

They talked for hours. Matt got nearly the whole story, and the bits Mello had refused to talk about he had guessed at.

Matt didn't know what to think. Mello _was_ in some deep shit.

They were sitting together on Matt's lumpy sofa; Matt was all too aware of Mello's leg against his. "You really know how to lead an exciting life, Mel."

Mello laughed. He had loosened up a bit since Matt had invited him in properly and pressed cheap beer into his palms. It was good. Matt had missed the lighter side of his friend. "Well, I wouldn't want to be boring now."

"You could never be boring. " Matt leant back, slumping a bit and looking up at Mello. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, so much to cover, a plethora of questions, but his mouth was refusing to co-operate. Matt didn't really do the whole touchy-feeling-heart-to-heart stuff.

So Matt did the next best thing – he straightened up, gripped Mello's jaw, and kissed him.

Mello tasted the same: hints of chocolate and coffee combining into a taste that was pure _Mello_. He felt the same too: hard and soft and wonderful, and all of a sudden they were teenagers again, Mello fumbling for his zipper, Matt pulling off his shirt. They were losing their clothing and Matt didn't care that they had never done this as teenagers, didn't care that they were probably moving way too fast, didn't care that Mello was a little drunk and that he didn't even know if he wanted to do what they were doing.

He just didn't care. He needed this. For once, Matt needed something from Mello and was going to goddamn get it.

Matt dragged him into the bedroom, somehow managing to not break the kiss and touch as much of Mello as possible all at once. They collapsed on the bed, long limbs tangled together, kissing, touching, a hand buried in hair and...

Matt was on his back, legs spread, feeling vulnerable and loving it, and the sight of Mello standing in front of him, all wiry muscles and gorgeousness, was exhilarating. How long had Matt dreamed of this?

"Lube?" asked Mello, raising himself above Matt. His hair was mussed and strands stuck to his face.

 _Beautiful_ , thought Matt.

"Bedside table, bottom drawer." Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Mello was all too slow getting the lube and then his fingers were in him and – _oh_ – Matt had never done that before and – _ohhh_ – it felt so fucking good he wondered why he hadn't. He tilted his head and moaned, feeling hot and cold and tingly and needing, "More".

It burned at first and his fingers hurt from gripping his sheets so hard, but then the pain dissolved into pleasure, and oh God _so much pleasure_. And Matt was glad he had waited for Mello. And he wondered if it was Mello's first time too. And he was surprised at the gentle way Mello leant down and kissed him and at the intensity of his orgasm and at the snuggling that happened afterwards.

He was surprised at them there, together again… He was surprised about Mello coming back to him. But, Matt supposed, hugging Mello to his chest… maybe this was where they were supposed to end up all along.

*

The two of them had this gravity that no one could explain, and it tore at Matt's insides as Mello left the flat – it tugged at his heart and Matt just wanted to follow, follow forever and ever. They were too involved to be apart. They were two planets pulled together by an unseen force, hurtling together, bound for destruction. No one could stop them and, if he was honest, Matt didn't want anyone too.  
Because it was better to have loved a Mello and lost a Mello then to have never known a Mello at all.

 _I need to sleep_ , Matt thought, lying on his sofa, but instead he took another swig of his beer and stared into the empty darkness.

*

Surrounded by guns and Mello in the background and screaming and red and oh God Mello on the floor bleeding and guns, guns, guns, and soft touches in the night and his clothes streaked scarlet and oh God Mello in his arms bleeding everywhere and a crying baby and – Matt gasped, eyes snapping open, hair plastered to his head. He rolled over and curled up tighter and closed his eyes and tried to sleep, and in the morning didn't remember his dream at all.

  


***  


** PAUSE **  


  


"Richard. How is he?"

"Worse, I'm afraid. Mumbling about blackjack and chess, and this _Mello_ character. More nightmares."

"More?"

"Yes. Every night this week." The doctor pushed up his glasses and checked his clipboard. "He wakes up screaming and clawing at his arms, drawing blood. Had to be restrained on Tuesday. Hit one of the nurses in the face." He turned the page. "We upped his dosage and he seems to be calming down. Except now he won't talk at all. He mostly just sits on his bed. We can't communicate with him. It's like talking to a brick wall. He doesn't want to eat or drink, and doesn't even resist medication anymore."

Near sighed, glancing towards the door. He didn't like this place. It was _too_ quiet, _too_ calm, _too_ white. Usually, they were all things he liked, but wrapped up like this… The place made his skin crawl. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry." Richard smiled sympathetically. "I know it must be hard."

"It is. It's sad."

"I know. We're doing everything we can."

Nodding, Near replied, "Again, thank you."

The doctor smiled again and walked away. Near turned to the little window set in the iron door. Matt sat, red hair vivid in the white room, on his thin bed. His eyes were closed. He had a small smile on his face, like he was remembering good times.

Near pressed his hand up to the glass, eyes tightening as he watched Matt smile to himself, the man lost in his own shattered mind.

  


***  


** STOP **  


  


The wind whipped through their hair and made their clothes billow and it was cold but they didn't care. The thin cliff-top grass waved around their feet. Ocean shattered against rocks far beneath them. Seagulls soared above their heads, chattering to one another.

"I'm glad you came back," Matt shouted to Mello over the roar of wind and sea.

"Me too," Mello replied.

They stood side-by-side, staring at the horizon. Matt took Mello's hand in his. It was warm and familiar. They turned to each other.

"Will you stay?" Matt asked.

"What?" Mello shouted, leaning in.

"Will you stay?" repeated Matt, louder. His eyes were wide and childlike, full of hope and uncertainty.

Mello met Matt's eyes and smiled. _Beautiful_.

Squeezing Matt's hand, Mello looked back towards the sea, his blond hair perfect even in the harsh wind.

"Always."


End file.
